Sons and Daughters
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Dombey and Son. Walter loves Florence very much, but sometimes her behavior frightens him.


Daughters

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Dombey and Son

Copyright: Charles Dickens' estate

"_I know a girl,  
she puts the color inside of my world.  
But she's just like a maze  
where all of the walls are continually changed.  
And I've done all I can  
to stand on her steps with my heart in my hands.  
Now I'm starting to see -  
maybe it's got nothing to do with me.  
_

_Fathers, be good to your daughters.  
Daughters will love like you do.  
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers -  
so, mothers, be good to your daughters too."_

- John Mayer, "Daughters"

Walter Gay loves his young wife more than anything in the world, but sometimes he fears he will never understand her.

One morning, he wakes up to find her side of the bed already empty, and sees her standing over the cradle of their newborn son, her black hair wild as a thundercloud, crying so silently that not even the baby has woken up.

"Do you love him?" Florence asks abruptly, seeing that Walter is awake. "Truly?Or do you only pretend to care, for appearances' sake?"

He is so appalled by this idea, especially so early in the morning, that he cannot speak a word in his defense.

"I – I wouldn't blame you, you see," she continues, gesturing wildly, looking everywhere but into his face. "After all, the poor child is even more of a burden than I am. You needn't disguise your feelings if – if you cannot – if he's inherited my … "

She breaks down, smothering a sob with both hands, turning her back to both her husband and her son. That proves too much for him, and he throws off his blanket and crosses the cabin in three steps.

"Florence! Dearest Florence, listen to me!" He whirls her around to face him, places both hands on her shoulders, and meets her tear-filled black eyes with his fierce blue ones. "Look into my eyes and tell me: ever since we met all these years ago, have I lied to you even once?"

"No … "

"And do you trust me?"

"Of course!"

"Then trust me now. Once and for all, you are _not _a burden – and neither is little Paul. This child, _our_ child, has been a miracle to me from the moment you first handed him into my arms. I pray to God every day to be as worthy a father to him as my good Uncle Sol is to me."

He looks down at the sleeping baby, bright pink and slightly rumpled like a full-blown peony. He touches his son's soft cheek with one finger, as if little Paul were a china figurine and liable to break.

"Yes, Paul is like you. I am _glad_ for that. If I were ever to neglect him, let alone disown him, he would have every right to curse my name – and so would you."

Florence stumbles out of his hold and backs away against the wall, holding up her hand as if to ward him off.

"Don't say such things, my love," she whispers. "Please don't."

"Why not, if they are true? How can you commit to our future, Florence, if you are still trapped in the past? When will you understand that you are innocent – that your father wronged you cruelly without cause? When will you stop tearing yourself to pieces like this, and turn your anger on the man who truly deserves it?"

Florence's hand flies to her chest, as if she had been hit there all over again. Her eyes, burning darker than ever in her tear-streaked face, seem to look right past him at the ghosts that have followed her for so long.

This time, when she begins to cry, they are not the quiet, ashamed tears she's been choking on all her life. She runs into her husband's arms, sinks her hands into his shirt - and _screams._

"Let it out, my darling," he murmurs, stroking her back. "Go on … let it all out."

Her emotions are a storm, and like any sailor, Walter knows the only thing to do is weather it. He waits for her to calm down, to stop shaking, to take out one of the handkerchiefs she is never without and cautiously, apologetically, clean herself up.

By the time the storm has passed, his ladylike Florence is a fright. Her eyes and nose are red, her hair is stuck to her forehead, and her throat is almost too worn out to speak. But her eyes shine like the night sky after rain, and she is almost smiling.

He pulls down the collar of her nightgown to kiss the spot where a palm-shaped bruise used to be. Understanding the gesture, she returns it by kissing a scar at the corner of his mouth, the only visible sign of the shipwreck that almost cost him his life.

By this time, little Paul has woken up and is loudly announcing his need to be fed. Florence wipes her eyes, brushes back her hair and picks up the child for his first feeding of the day – and she's a lady again, the calm and elegant presence she shows to the world, all her pain, shame and sorrow tucked away as neatly as her folded handkerchiefs. For the rest of the day, he knows, she will smile and charm everyone they meet, let them fuss over the baby as always, and generally behave as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Walter wonders if he will ever get used to her transformations, or if perhaps her two selves will one day reconcile.

But there's something different in the way she smiles today, a certain confidence in the way she carries both herself and little Paul. As if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders … as if perhaps, even though they have spent months at sea and are barely returned to England, her journey has only just begun.


End file.
